The Knight Whales

TW: This story contains themes of bullying, grief, mortality, and spirituality.

Calvin was supposed to be asleep. He wasn’t.

           Heidi knocked softly on his door before entering. The lone nightlight in the corner barely cast enough light for her to navigate to his bed. The sound of snowplows at work in the cold Edmonton night caused her to pause. She allowed herself a small laugh, afraid that anything more than a chuckle would elicit another round of garish coughing.

           She smiled. She knew he was wide awake. Ever since they discovered the Nature Channel, Calvin had become enamored with whales. Being a seven-year-old with an overactive imagination meant that Calvin would often interpret things in creative ways; when he first heard the mammoth metal blades of the plows, he instantly assumed it was several large cetaceans calling one another to joust.

           She made sure his blankets were pulled all the way up before ensuring that all of his stuffed animals were in their correct order. Feeling as though her cough was returning, she whispered him a goodnight and hurried from his room.

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           Streams of bright sunlight poured through Calvin’s window. He excitedly bounced out of bed and pressed his nose to the frosted glass. It had snowed the entire night! He did a quick spin to make sure his mother wasn’t standing in the doorway, encouraging him to get ready for school. No mom. That meant no school!

           He quickly traded his pajamas for his warmest outdoor clothes. He then raced to the front door; breakfast would have to wait. He pulled on his boots, his winter coat, a scarf, a toque and two pairs of gloves.

           “I’m going outside,” he yelled over his shoulder as he was midway through the open door.

           The door closed with a resounding thud. Calvin’s adventure was in full swing!

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           “As far as I can tell,” said Dr. Hough, “you appear to be in perfect health.”

           Heidi objected, “This cough just won’t go away.”

           The doctor’s aging forehead wrinkled as he peered over his bifocals.

           “I suggest going home and resting for the next several days. If anything changes, let me know.”

           Heidi shrugged, “Thanks, doc, I’ll keep you posted.”

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           Billy’s house was across the street and one over from his. Calvin was careful to practice what his father taught him about crossing the street safely. He looked left; the coast was clear. He turned his head to the right; he would have to wait for a black car and a yellow bus. His excitement seemed to slow them down, but they eventually came and went. He checked the road to his left again. It was still clear. He quickly crossed the freshly plowed street.

           Billy’s yard, like the rest of the neighborhood, was covered in a fresh blanket of snow. Three walls comprised of what must be an undecillion of tightly packed snowflakes stood one meter high at the end of the yard, close to the sidewalk but as far from the driveway as possible. Several crude parapets rose from the walls with no apparent rhyme or reason to their placement.

           Calvin scurried into the fort, overjoyed that it was still standing. After a few weeks of pretend war with several rival neighborhood children, it had become apparent to Calvin and Billy that they had better build a reinforced structure with ample storage space for more snowballs. It should also be easy to get in and out of, in case the bully at the end of the street tried to dump shovels of snow on their heads again.

           Calvin quickly checked their supply of ammo, relieved to see that it was full. He was a bit surprised that Billy wasn’t yet outside, but since there were no tracks in the fresh sheet of snow, he assumed that his best comrade-in-arms hadn’t been captured, which was good.

           He spent the next hour making more snowballs, stacking them in neat triangles, and patching the walls. In his youthful exuberance, he forgot to feel cold. After a second hour with no signs of life anywhere, he decided to enhance the fort further, adding a large, angry snowman’s head to the southeast corner of the fort in hopes it would deter the local bully from attacking them.

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           “Calvin,” said Heidi, as she shut the front door, “I’m home.” It was no use. His winter gear was missing; she might as well have been talking to a ghost. She began coughing.

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           As soon as Calvin attached two spiky horns of snow to the icy mascot, a large snowball slammed into the front of the fort. He was under attack! His effigy did not have the intended effect he was hoping for. Instead of keeping the neighborhood factions at bay, they must have seen this new addition as a threat.

           Calvin dove for cover inside the fort. Snowball after snowball pelted his position. Fortunately, Billy had had the bright idea of reinforcing the walls with ice water. Their hideaway was practically indestructible. He cautiously peered over the top of the wall. A frozen projectile whizzed past his head, grazing his black toque as it crashed into the yard behind him. He ducked. That one was too close. He wished Billy were here.

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           Heidi clutched her freshly filled coffee mug as she looked out the window. It had begun snowing again. Her cell phone buzzed.

           “Hi husband,” she said, fighting back yet another cough, “Are you calling to say that you’ll be home late due to unforeseen circumstances?”

           She paused to listen, “I’m fine, dear,” she said finally. “I was about to make some of Calvin’s favorite cookies.”

           Another pause, “Be safe – love you too.”

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           The onslaught refused to let up. Calvin mustered his courage and took another peek over the top of the wall, this time close to one of the parapets that Billy had made. Even though it had begun snowing, he managed to see a volley of snowballs headed directly for him. He quickly sheltered in the southeast corner, watching as a dozen orbs fell in the center of the roofless fort. They missed him. Or so he thought.

           One orb exploded, completely showering the inside of the fort with snow. He was entirely coated. If only Billy were here, he could help him wipe his eyes so that he could see again. He was alone. It would be a matter of time before the bully would charge in with his dreaded shovel and make a bad situation worse. Calvin needed to make a break for it.

           He dropped to his hands and knees, feeling for the opening in the back of the fort. Once his fingers ascertained the edges of the structure, he crawled as fast as he could, hoping to reach the backyard before any sortie could be made against him.

           He was too late. He heard a loud, giddy laugh accompanied by heavy footsteps; the bully was behind him. Calvin froze in place, hands covering the back of his neck, hoping to prevent snow from finding its way between his protective layers and intruding upon his skin. His mom said kids can get sick that way. He didn’t want to be sick.

           Calvin braced for the dump of snow but it didn’t happen. Instead, he heard a familiar screech, then a metallic thud which sounded like a shovel being thrown to the ground. He then felt an unfamiliar touch on his shoulder.

           “Oh dear, oh goodness,” said a strange voice, “this won’t do at all.”

           A warm towel wiped away the snow on Calvin’s face. He looked up to see an otter wearing a waistcoat, a monocle and a top hat, neatly folding the towel and stowing it into a stately handbag.

           “There we are,” said the otter, “I trust that you can open your eyes again?”

           “Why yes,” said Calvin, “that is so much better.”

           “Perfect,” said the otter, grabbing Calvin by the arm, “off we go then. We mustn’t keep your patron waiting.”

           “My what?”

           “Patron. You have been vouched for.”

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           Heidi brought two plates of cookies to the living room. She set one down in Calvin’s usual spot, and then curled up on the other end of the couch in her usual haunt. She turned on the television. Their favorite nature program was on. It would be a matter of time before he joined her to watch the underwater footage of the whales.

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           Somehow, unbeknownst to Calvin, a ceasefire must have been called. As the otter escorted him across the street, not a single snowball was in flight. Calvin didn’t have time to wonder who could have convinced all of the other kids to pause their military operations because the otter was bringing him back to his house.

           He was about to protest that he wasn’t ready to go home yet, when he noticed the largest snowball he had ever seen sitting in his front yard. It was more of an ellipsoid than spherical, measuring at least five meters long.

           “Hullo,” called the otter, “I’ve found your charge, sir.”

           Calvin’s eyes opened wide. The snowball blinked.

           “Thank you Fred,” said the massive white animal. He turned to Calvin.

           “Greetings, Commander Calvin.”

           “Greetings,” said Calvin, “you’re a whale.” It was a statement, not a question.

           “Indeed, I am. Sir Galahad, at your service.”

           “Sir Gallon Head?”

           A spray of snow shot out of the beluga’s blowhole. He was laughing.

           “They do say there’s a first time for everything.”

           “What are you doing in my yard?” asked Calvin.

           “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

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           Heidi was asleep on the couch. Simon admired his wife for a few moments. She had barely touched her plate of cookies. Being a good husband, he would do his duty by sampling a couple of the whale-shaped molasses treats. He then curled up next to her on the couch, pulling a blanket over them both. It was good to see her sleeping for once. It had been a long week.

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Calvin was ecstatic. His favorite type of animal had come to visit. Not only was Sir Gallon Head a massive beluga, but he was also very knowledgeable on the subject of snowball wars. Calvin wanted to join forces with his new friend to eradicate the bully once and for all, but the newcomer had something else in mind.

           “Commander Calvin,” said Sir Galahad, “I’m here on a secret mission.”

           Calvin’s eyes widened, he liked secret missions.

           “You’re not going to tell me, are you?” He sullenly asked the whale.

           “Actually,” said the beluga, a big smile on his white face, “my mission requires that I do tell you.”

           “Wow! Really?”

           “Really.”

           Calvin gave Sir Gallon Head his best attempt at a salute, “Calvin Whal, reporting for duty.”

           The whale laughed, “Thank you, Commander. Let’s begin.”

           Fred the otter had set out an enormous blackboard. Calvin wasn’t sure where he had gotten it, but it didn’t matter anyway. Everyone knows that secret missions are more important than how otters go about procuring blackboards.

           “I assume you can read, Commander Calvin?” asked Fred.

           “I’ve been learning,” said Calvin, answering truthfully.

           Sir Galahad spoke, “It’s not necessary to write it down Fred, just draw some pictures as I tell the boy.”

           “Yes sir,” said Fred, adjusting his monocle before lifting a piece of chalk.

           “My mission, Commander Calvin,” began the whale, “is to rescue a young lady from a dark spirit.”

           “That sounds scary,” said Calvin, watching Fred draw a stick figure wearing a skirt; a giant blob with angry eyes hovering next to it.

           “It is very scary,” said Sir Galahad, “if we don’t defeat the dark spirit, that young lady will live the rest of her life in a very dark place.”

           Calvin assumed Fred’s next drawing was that of bars, like a jail, but he couldn’t be too sure. Fred was clearly not born to be an artist.

           The beluga continued, “The young lady lives in this house,” he nodded his head toward Calvin’s front door, “do you know who lives here?”

           Calvin answered, “Yes sir, I do.”

           “This is why my mission involved finding you.”

           “But why?” asked Calvin, “There’s no young lady here.”

           “You don’t have a Heidi Whal here?” asked Sir Galahad.

           “That’s my mom,” said Calvin, “she’s older than me.”

           “Fair enough,” chuckled the whale, “but I assure you, she’s still young.”

           “Why are you telling me this?” asked Calvin.

           “Because though I am of the order of the Knight Whales, I cannot fit through your front door. I need a real soldier to infiltrate your house, deal with the dark spirit, and save Heidi.”

           “Why can’t Fred do it?”

           Fred paused in his horrendous attempt at drawing out Sir Galahad’s plan, looking horrified that he might have to confront the dark spirit.

           Sir Galahad’s response set his mind at ease, “Because Fred here, is my assistant, he’s not a soldier like you.”

           “Okay,” said Calvin, “if you’re sure I can do it, I’ll give it a try.”

           “That’s a good lad,” said Fred, relief washing over his face.

           “But, Sir Gallon Head,” said Calvin, his young mind starting to think through the assignment, “why is there a dark spirit bothering my mom?”

           “Ahh,” said the whale, “what do you remember about last week?”

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           Heidi woke several hours later, sitting bolt upright. Calvin’s cookies were still on his plate; he hadn’t come home yet. Before she could stand up, a coughing fit ensued, waking her husband. Simon didn’t have to ask her how she was doing. He pulled her close to him, gently patting her back.

           “It’ll be okay,” he said softly, “it’ll be okay.”

           She couldn’t find words to say; she pointed at the plate full of cookies.

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           “I remember being in my fort with Billy.”

           Fred had pulled out a small notebook. Apparently, he was better at writing down words than drawing pictures.

           Calvin continued, “The bully from the end of the street dumped a shovel full of snow down my neck.”

           “A nasty practice, indeed,” said Sir Galahad, “it’s far too cold out here.”

           “It’s been said that a child could catch a severe illness from such a rotten act,” said Fred.

           “It’s also been known that a child who couldn’t see straight because their eyes were covered with snow accidentally crawled into oncoming traffic and died,” said Sir Galahad.

           “Wow,” said Calvin, “that’s horrible. Who did that happen to?”

           “He lived here.”

           “He did?” asked Calvin, rubbing his eyes.

           “Yes.” Sir Galahad’s smile faded. “That is why you’re the best soldier for this mission.”

           “Atten-hut!” yelled Fred, who had somehow traded his top hat for a marine’s helmet.

           He took it off of his head and placed it on Calvin.

           “Your mission,” said Sir Galahad, “should you choose to accept it, is to open the front door, find your mom, and wait for the dark spirit to appear.”

           “Yes sir,” said Calvin, enthusiastically.

           “When the dark spirit shows itself, take this magic snowball,” said Sir Galahad, nodding toward Fred, “You’ll know what to do.”

           Fred deposited a glowing orb into Calvin’s gloved hand. It looked like neon rainbow snow. Calvin thought for the briefest moment that it was warm.

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           Heidi couldn’t stop coughing. Simon felt helpless as he held her close. He knew the only two things he could do in this situation were to embrace her as long as she needed and to pray. Holding his wife was the easy part; praying to a God who claims to be good while horrible things happen in the world was the hardest thing he had ever tried to do.

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           Calvin quietly opened the front door. He covertly crept down the hall until he reached the living room. He saw his father and mother sitting on his favorite couch. He saw a plate of his favorite whale-shaped cookies on the end table nearest him. He tried to grab one, but his hand swept cleanly through them.

           Sir Gallon Head’s voice echoed in his mind, “He lived here.”

           His mom began to cough, violent spasms almost forcing her to her knees. His father was crying. Calvin tried to hug his parents, but like the cookies, he wafted right through them, too.

           The dark spirit materialized as Calvin’s final memory surfaced. He had crawled away from the bully’s shovel attack. The dark spirit hovered over his mother, laughing gleefully at her distress. Calvin recalled not being able to tell where the road started since everything was covered in snow. The dark spirit was spinning in circles, pulling chains ever tighter around his mother’s form. He was crushing her joy, hope, and future.

           Calvin finally understood. He was the boy who had lived here. The driver never saw him in time. The dark spirit had taken the liberty of harassing his mother the moment she heard the commotion outside last week.

           Calvin could feel the neon rainbow snowball start pulsating in his hand. Sir Gallon Head was right; he did know what to do. He wound up his arm and yelled, “Mom, it’ll be okay!” He threw the glowing orb straight into the middle of the dark spirit. It instantly screamed in pain, the light of the snowball burning it out of existence forever. Heidi’s cough immediately dissipated.

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           Simon was relieved when his wife’s coughing suddenly stopped. A light returned to her eyes. It had been absent for the last week — for good reason.

           “Welcome back, my love,” he said, as he pulled her even closer.

           He knew Heidi had been having a hard time adjusting. She kept making Calvin’s favorite cookies. She’d sit on the couch watching the whales on the television until Simon would come home and gently carry her to bed. He knew that she was also visiting their son’s bedroom every night to say goodnight.

           Calvin was supposed to be asleep. He wasn’t. As of three days ago, he was buried in the cemetery at their church.